The Lazy Lawyer

About The Lazy Lawyer

Most of the time, Defense Attorney Jerry Baker asked MacFarland to find the evidence he needs to get one of his usually guilty clients a lesser sentence or even off the hook. Most of the time, MacFarland does so because he trusts Baker's judgment about people. But this time, it's different. This time it's Jerry Baker who is accused of murder.

Jerry Baker is the prime suspect in the murder of his co-counsel. The evidence looks bad: a gun that had been in Baker's desk was the murder weapon, Baker's prints are on the gun, and there is evidence that Baker and his co-counsel didn't see eye-to-eye on how to advance their case.

MacFarland can't believe his friend is guilty. But to prove Baker's innocence, MacFarland will have to find out who really killed the Lazy Lawyer.

The Lazy Lawyer is the twelfth book in the Hot Dog Detective series. Each book can be read independently, but if you want to read them in order, just follow the alphabet.Sign Up for Mathiya Adams Newsletter!

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Prologue

October 22, Sunday, 1800 Hours

Rufus Headley was nowhere to be found.

Mark MacFarland--Mac to his friends--had expected Rufus to return home sometime during the night, but when MacFarland checked Rufus' basement living quarters, the bed was empty. Not made, surely. After more than forty years living on the streets, Rufus had gotten out of the habit of making up his bed every morning. For a good portion of his life, Rufus had slept in an abandoned drainage pipe that in better days had emptied into the South Platte River.

Rufus could have lived in a shelter, but four walls frightened him. He preferred being outside, in places of refuge where he could be on the lookout for his ultimate nemesis: the Viet Cong soldiers he had spent years fighting and decades hiding from.

For although Corporal Rufus Headley had returned from Vietnam back in 1975, the Vietnam War had never ended for him. The Viet Cong--Charlie in Rufus' mind--had followed him home and were still after him.

MacFarland had finally gotten Rufus to move out of his drainage pipe and move into the basement of the house he himself shared with his former partner, Detective Cynthia Pierson of the Denver Police Department. It had been a struggle convincing the Vietnam Vet to give up his sewer pipe refuge, but finally Rufus had given in. Probably as much due to Pierson's charm as to MacFarland's urgings.

But now he was gone.

This was the second time in a month that Rufus had panicked and disappeared. The first time, a couple of weeks ago, Rufus had taken refuge in the home of April Evans, a woman who somehow found it in her heart to overlook all of Rufus' faults and see only the good in him.

The first place MacFarland checked when searching for Rufus was the home of April Evans, but she hadn't seen him. She promised to call MacFarland if Rufus showed up.

MacFarland had spent the rest of Sunday driving around Denver, stopping at all the usual haunts of the homeless population in Denver, asking if anyone had seen Rufus. No one had.

Normally MacFarland would not have been so concerned about his best friend. After all, Rufus was capable of taking care of himself and had done so for decades before MacFarland and he had met up four years earlier. At that time, MacFarland had also been living on the streets, constantly drunk, constantly getting thrown out of bars or mugged in back alleys. Rufus had befriended him, eventually helping MacFarland take the first hesitant steps towards recovery.

In return, MacFarland had promised never to abandon his friend.

But yesterday...yesterday, someone had shot at Rufus, a clear attempt to kill him.

Although MacFarland had not been able to find the shooter, Rufus was certain that he knew who had shot at him.

Charlie.

Charlie, otherwise known as the Viet Cong, his shadowy enemy from forty years earlier, had finally caught up with him.

When MacFarland arrived home in the evening, he found Pierson in the front room, watching the news.

Where's Rufus? she asked.

I don't know, said MacFarland. He hadn't had a chance to tell her that Rufus had disappeared.

Come and watch this.

Watch what? The news?

Yes.

Why? I don't like the news.

Just watch it. A friend of mine told me they were breaking a story tonight.

What story?

Shhh! It's coming on now.

The camera zoomed in on an attractive news reporter. MacFarland recognized her as a reporter he had encountered a couple of times in his past. In an amazing turn of events, noted defense attorney Jerome Baker has been accused of the murder of another attorney, David Barefield. The picture switched to showing several uniformed officers leading Jerry Baker out of his office, Baker's hands cuffed behind his back. Jerome Baker is currently defending accused murderer Stephen K. King. A picture of Stephen King appeared on the screen. "Stephen King is one of two men accused of the brutal murder of Winston Luong and his wife Khiem Luong in January. In a remarkable twist of events, the man Baker is accused of killing is the defense attorney for other man, Archie Foley, accused in the murder.

Mr. Baker is facing charges of murder, conspiracy, and obstruction of justice. Mr. Baker was unavailable for interview after his arrest earlier today. Reporting live from the Lindsey-Flanigan Courthouse, I'm Anna Spiros with Channel 8 News.

Pierson turned off the television after the story was over. What do you think?

MacFarland stared at the blank screen in mute shock. I don't believe it.

It doesn't seem like Jerry, does it?

No.

So what are you going to do about it, Mac?

MacFarland knew immediately what Pierson was implying. She was a firm believer in the team concept. She always emphasized how important it was to protect the members of your team.

This concept wasn't lost on MacFarland. As a former Marine, he full well knew the importance of watching your fellow soldier's back. MacFarland found himself torn between two loyalties—his friend Rufus and his friend Baker.

MacFarland didn't even know if Rufus was alive or dead. He'd check with the morgue in the morning. But Baker was still alive and needed his help.

I guess I have to find out who killed that lawyer.

Chapter 1

October 23, Monday, 0900 Hours

MacFarland left his hot dog wagon in the driveway at Pierson's house. He was determined to spend the day searching for Rufus. He had already explored the places he and Rufus had frequented when they both were on the street. The only place left was Rufus' hidey-hole.

Despite their friendship, Rufus had never invited MacFarland to his place of refuge on the bank of the South Platte River. Rufus' fear of the Viet Cong discovering his whereabouts was often greater than his feelings of friendship. The only evidence MacFarland had regarding Rufus' hidden home was that it was north of a road that crossed the Platte.

Unfortunately, a lot of roads crossed the Platte River.

MacFarland began his search near Confluence Park, mainly because he could park his truck nearby. He got out and started following the bike trails and footpaths that followed the South Platte River. There weren't many people out today. A cloud cover threatened rain, although MacFarland doubted there would be much precipitation; he prided himself on having a sixth sense about the weather that was nearly infallible.

Following the river upstream turned out to be a bit more difficult than MacFarland expected. Unlike Cherry Creek, which flowed into the South Platte at Confluence Park and had a walkway along its bank for a considerable distance, the South Platte only had an easy path to follow for a short distance. MacFarland found himself trying to follow the flow of the river from a distance.

He kept an eye out for what he knew of Rufus' hidey-hole: a four-foot wide cement pipe that had formerly been a storm drain into the river. Rufus had said that his refuge was hidden behind bushes and shrubs that grew wild along the banks of the river. A recent project to beautify the South Platte River, however, had replaced much of the wild growth with a tamer environment. Rufus had complained about this project when it had happened. Civilization has no place along a river. Rivers need to run wild. Even a little river, like the South Platte.

MacFarland had been hugging the river, as much as he could, for nearly two hours, with little luck. Then, up ahead, he saw a man coming out from under a bridge. The beautification efforts had tried to sanitize the area under the bridge, but the man had apparently dug out a cavity in which he could store his meager possessions and his body at night. The man noticed MacFarland and started to head away in the opposite direction. But MacFarland had already recognized the man.

Ben! Ben Tyler! It's me! MacFarland!

The man stopped, then turned to face MacFarland. Recognition seemed to light up his face and he broke into a smile. Ben Tyler took several tentative steps back towards MacFarland.

Mac! Didn't know it was you!

The two men climbed up the bank of the river and stood near the road crossing the river. Tyler was a black man, his short curly hair thinning prematurely. Although Tyler was in his late thirties, life on the street had aged his appearance considerably. To MacFarland's trained eye, Ben had lost weight since he had last seen him.

How's it going Ben? Staying out of trouble?

I try to. Thought you was the cops coming to roust us out one last time afore winter.

No, I'm not here for anything like that. I'll keep your place secret. But you can do me a favor.

Sure, what's that?

Have you seen Rufus?

Rufus is gone again? Is Charlie after him again? Rufus' fear of the Viet Cong was well known in the homeless community.

It might be serious this time. Someone did take a shot at him.

Tyler's eyes widened. No shit! You mean there really is a Charlie?

MacFarland shook his head. I don't think so. For all I know, it was probably some kid with a pellet gun. Actually, when MacFarland had dug the bullet out of his wagon the previous evening, it turned out to be a .30-caliber rifle bullet.

When did this happen?

Saturday. Rufus took off and I haven't seen him since. MacFarland looked upstream. I'm looking for his hidey-hole. You don't happen to know where it is, do you?

Me? No, Rufus never let me know where he lived. I know it was along the river, but he kept all that stuff really secret. He was pretty good at keeping people from following him. You said he ran off on Saturday?

Yes.

Well, I mighta seen him then. I seen Rufus yesterday, but it weren't anywhere near here.

Where did you see him?

Over by Coors Field. He weren't staying there, but he was walking past the ball park. Since there's no games going on there now, the cops stopped chasing us away, but he wasn't staying there anyway.

Do you know where he was heading?

No, sorry, I don't know that.

But he didn't seem to be heading over in this direction.

Nope. He seemed to be going up north. Don't know what's up there. Maybe the railroad yards.

Was it possible that Rufus had hopped a train out of Denver? MacFarland couldn't believe that Rufus would just leave the city. But where would Rufus be going?

Thanks, Ben. Stop by my hot dog stand this week and I'll give you some free food.

I'd appreciate that, Mac. You always been good to us.

MacFarland smiled. It's us against the world, Ben. We have to watch each other's back or the Man will get us.

Ben Tyler nodded, then headed off in his original direction. MacFarland watched him walk away, then turned and headed back towards his truck. This time, he followed a road, making his trip back easier and quicker than the trek along the river bed.

It was a good thing that he found a quicker route back to his truck. Just as he reached it, the clouds opened up and rain began to pour down.

Chapter 2

October 23, Monday, 1320 Hours

MacFarland had just gotten into his truck when he felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out and looked at the display. Jerome Baker.

MacFarland considered letting the call go to voice mail. Although he suspected that Baker was calling in regard to his recent arrest for murder, and probably was calling to ask for his help, MacFarland was not sure what he could do for Baker. He certainly couldn't bail him out of jail, assuming that's where he was. And he certainly wasn't a lawyer, which was what Baker probably needed. MacFarland nearly laughed aloud at his own joke: a lawyer needing a lawyer! How ironic!

He answered the call anyway.

Hi, Jerry. Looks like you got yourself into a mess.

Ah, you saw it on the news.

Yes, Pierson made sure I didn't miss it. What are you calling for?

I need your help, Mac.

I sort of figured that, Jerry. I do intend to help you. I'm just not sure how.

By being a private investigator, of course. That's what I pay you for.

MacFarland was not really sure about the payment part. He and Jerry had once discussed a retainer arrangement, but it had never come to pass. If MacFarland helped a particular client, it was often the client who found some way of compensating MacFarland. Most of the time, MacFarland did what he did for Jerry as a favor.

Now that MacFarland thought about it, that wasn't a very good business arrangement. Maybe, if Baker didn't end up in prison, they should renegotiate their working relationship.

He decided not to bring up the issue of payment at this moment. Do you have a lawyer? Are you in jail?

I'm not in jail, at least not yet. The judge knows me and since I'm arguing a case in court right now, the judge has given me some leeway. Not much, since I have to wear an ankle bracelet. But I can go from my home to my office and to the court.

I guess that's pretty good.

Really? It sucks. But I guess it sucks more to be in jail.

MacFarland laughed. That's true, I can testify to that. MacFarland had spent more time in jail than he cared to admit. Of course, he had bee innocent of every charge leveled against him. Or nearly every charge. And, of course, he had not been charged with many things that he would reluctantly admit were violations of the law. His years on the streets had taught him that sometimes the laws were not always just.

So, can you help me?

I'd have to know more about the case, said MacFarland, his tone hesitant.

Meet me at my office and I'll fill you in, said Baker.

A short while later, MacFarland was sitting across from Jerry Baker in the lawyer's cluttered office. Hey, Lorna, honey, can you get us some coffee?

Lorna Fuchs, Baker's secretary, leaned her head in the door. If she was worried about working for a man accused of murder, she sure didn't show it. How do you take it, Mac? she asked.

Cream, no sugar, said MacFarland.

Lorna popped out. Baker leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. I don't know how this happened, he said.

MacFarland cocked his head. You mean the other lawyer's death?

Baker choked on a laugh. I can see someone wanting to kill Barefield. He was the kind of lawyer who gives us all a bad reputation.

MacFarland smiled, then tried to hide his grin behind his hand. Most of the detectives he had worked with thought it was lawyers like Jerry Baker who gave lawyers their bad reputation. After all, few were better than Jerry Baker at getting scumbags back on the street. However, after having worked with Baker for more than a year, MacFarland's opinion was changing. He had learned that Baker did have a finely tuned sense of ethics. He used the law to his client's advantage. It's up to the prosecution to prove their case, he always said. My job is to give the defendant the benefit of the doubt, which is, after all, his Constitutional right.

If Jerry noticed MacFarland's grin, he gave no indication, but continued talking. He was the laziest lawyer I've ever met. Smartest thing I did on this case was get the court to agree to try my client independently of Barefield's. If we had been co-counsel, he would have pulled me down, I'm sure of it.

Tell me about the person you're defending.

Stephen King. No relation to the writer, thank God. A real scumbag. He and Archie Foley were arrested for killing Winston Luong and his wife. The Luongs were found on January 24th when their daughter went to their home to find out why they hadn't opened up the restaurant that day. King and Foley were arrested two days later, based on an anonymous tip. The Luong's run a Vietnamese Restaurant over on Federal Boulevard. We're not sure why they did it, but the prosecution has a pretty solid case. They have the gun that was used to kill the Luongs, they have Foley's prints on the gun, and neither man has an alibi for the night the murder took place. While the gun belongs to King, he claims that Foley stole the gun from him. Foley, of course, has denied that, though he can't deny that it's his prints on the gun.

So what's their defense? How do they beat the charge?

Baker frowned. I don't like the term 'beat' the charge. We're arguing that both men did go to the restaurant, but it was Foley who committed the crime. At most, King is guilty of aiding and abetting someone who committed a crime.

At that moment, Lorna Fuchs came in with two cups of coffee. She was a large woman who had problems squeezing past the piles of books, papers, courtroom props, and just plain junk that filled Baker's office. Here ya go, gents, said Lorna, banging her voluminous butt against MacFarland. He tried to lean out of the way, but was afraid that his chair might tip over. On the other hand, it was just as likely that Fuchs' wide hips might knock him off balance. Lorna waddled her way out of the office.

What was Barefield's strategy?

He was arguing that King committed the murder, of course. And even if King didn't pull the trigger, he was present at the killing and was just as responsible for the murders.

I take it that neither will testify against the other?

About the only thing that David and I agreed on. We wouldn't put our clients on the witness stand to testify against the other's client. Fifth Amendment protection and all that.

That's all very interesting, Jerry, but I'm more concerned with the charges against you. So who do you think killed Barefield?

Baker smiled. I'm surprised you didn't ask me if I had him killed.

I think I know you, Jerry. I know that you personally wouldn't kill anyone and you wouldn't get someone else to do it for you. You're not the murdering type.

I thought you said that anyone was capable of murder.

Actually, it's Pierson who says that. I think some people are not capable of murder. They might be capable of killing someone, but not murdering them.

I'm glad I have your trust. To answer your question, I have no idea who might have killed Barefield. I can think of several people who might wish him harm, but not murder.

So you don't have any starting points?

Baker shook his head.

What evidence do they have against you, Jerry?

I haven't seen everything yet. They searched my office, took a gun--it might have been mine, it might not have been--I have several guns here, mostly from other cases I've worked on.

You mean guns you took from clients?

I guess that's correct.

Why haven't you turned them in to the police?

Baker shrugged. If they were evidence in a case I was working on, I did turn them in. If they were here, they were just things my clients didn't need to be found with.

MacFarland shook his head in disbelief. I don't know why I'm going to do this.

Baker raised his eyebrows. Does that mean that you're going to look into the case for me?

MacFarland shrugged. I've got some other things weighing on my mind, but, yes, I will see what I can find out.

Thanks, Mac. I knew I could depend on you.

Chapter 3

October 23, Monday, 1930 Hours

MacFarland cornered Pierson in the kitchen between the coffee pot and the kitchen table.

You've got that predator look on your face, she said, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

You're going to stay up all night if you drink that now.

Coffee puts me to sleep, said Pierson. It's why I'm crap on stake-outs.

MacFarland shook his head. No one likes to do stake-outs with you for an entirely different reason.

Pierson glared at him. "All right, spill it.